


Calm of the Storm

by Madelief



Series: Alpha and Omega bonus bits and bobs [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Angst and Smut, Cullen Appreciation Week 2017, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-24 00:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12001524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madelief/pseuds/Madelief
Summary: This is a one-shot for Day 1 of Cullen Appreciation Week 2017, the focus being Cullen's life as a Templar. I've written plenty of indirect references to Cullen's antagonistic relationship with Hawke in my main Cullen x Quizzy fic, but I've never had the opportunity to write this particular scene before. I thought it would just focus on the smut, but of course it turned into something much more.So anyway, this is Cullen x Nathalie Hawke, the day (and night) of their last blazing row, taking place the day before Anders blew up the Chantry. I perhaps enjoyed writing Purple Hawke a bit too much!





	Calm of the Storm

The air was thick with corruption, rebellion and simmering violence. Nathalie picked up on every last one of Kirkwall’s vices. Normally she could shrug off the many failings of her adopted home but after the argument she’d just endured with Anders she was overly sensitive to the nuances running through the city’s heart.

What she sensed did not improve her mood one iota. For once, she was at a complete loss, with no solution to the age-old Mage and Templar conundrum. Yet everyone, as usual, expected her to work miracles.

‘At least we’re out in the open now.’ She cast a falsely bright smile over her shoulder at the three sombre faces staring back at her, flippancy always Nathalie’s weapon of choice to deflect issues she didn’t want to address. ‘Nothing like a burst of hearty sea air to clear the mind. Now, if only they’d do something about the rubbish collection in this part of the Gallows things would be just dandy.’

‘Hawke, are you seriously going to make out like that whole clusterfuck of a conversation never happened?’ Varric’s incredulous expression told Nathalie how poorly she’d succeeded in fobbing her companions off. ‘Anders is losing his shit. The last thing you should be worried about is whether the municipality is going to burn the garbage on time.’

‘Varric’s right. Sarcasm won’t go very far to resolving the ails that plague Kirkwall.’

A dwarf she classed as another brother and a man she had yet to identify her true feelings for were not going to let her off lightly. There was nothing unusual about that, Nathalie already bored by the unspoken judgement from the pair. Yet it was unusual for Varric and Sebastian to be in such concert given their penchant to be at loggerheads every time their mouths opened. Nathalie had to stifle a chuckle at Varric’s look of astonishment when Sebastian joined his voice to his. Her burst of good humour was rapidly replaced by irritation with a heavy dose of fear, Nathalie scowling in annoyance at Sebastian’s softly-spoken reprimand.

‘We don’t have time for you to throw a tantrum, Hawke.’ Fenris ganging up on her too was the final straw, Natalie’s lips pressed firmly shut to hold back on a blistering setdown in front of half of Kirkwall. ‘Mages are at risk of running riot and destroying us all. There’s very few who have the power to prevent a catastrophe in the making. Best get on with it, hadn’t we?’

‘Anders’ determination to lead the mages to rebellion is going to result in a bloodbath. We’re running out of options. Shouldn’t you –‘.

Nathalie’s slamming of her staff into the ground with a resounding smack cut Sebastian’s preaching short. The absurdly handsome Chantry brother didn’t back down, the azure of his piercing, knowing gaze only serving to rile her further. Varric and Fenris belatedly recognised when her temper reached its limits and melted into the background, more aware than Nathalie appreciated of the torrent of unresolved sentiment that raged between the Champion of Kirkwall and the Prince of Starkhaven.

‘I do wish, Sebastian, that the adventuring womaniser somewhere within you would return, just for a day. He’d be a damn sight more interesting to listen to than the patronising sermons you seem to deem fit for my ears.’

Her bitchy sarcasm had little to do with addressing the very real problem Anders posed. Sebastian’s seeming indifference to her as a woman was biting her far deeper than she’d ever acknowledge. Nathalie knew she’d have to apologise to Sebastian later, but she was still reeling from Anders’ descent into seeming lunacy, annoyed with herself for allowing Sebastian to cause so much inward turmoil she couldn’t yet put a name to.

‘Now, if you’re quite done, you can take the two skulkers behind you away and leave me to deal with the issue at hand. As you so kindly reminded me, there are problems which only I seem capable of addressing. Fortunately, it doesn’t require all of you to grace me with your sanctimonious presence.’

_From the frying pan into the fire._

_This next conversation is going to be a million times worse._

Not waiting for a response, Nathalie stormed away. Her friends would take their own measures to protect their loved ones and the city from the fighting that was almost guaranteed to erupt in the next few days if Anders fanned the flames hot enough. Of that, there was no doubt.

If she had a hope of preventing disaster, there was a debate she urgently needed to have and she didn’t require an audience critiquing her every word. Especially not with the man she was intent on browbeating into compliance.

The sharp step of her boots echoed round the deserted courtyard, the Gallows resembling a ghosttown now the mages were on lockdown. The looming bronze statues of despair and misery, the pristine white stone reflecting the sun’s glare – it was all so familiar yet so alien without the crowd of refugees and city residents thronging the open spaces. Meredith and her Templars had well and truly shut Kirkwall down to the detriment of them all, and Nathalie was through with the whole bloody lot, apostate or no.  She would blow her head off before she bent a knee to the Templar Order.

She absently waved a cooling spell against the heat of the afternoon, glancing at the formfitting midnight blue leather armour she favoured but which could easily roast her if she forgot to ward herself. Nathalie had survived too many horrors to worry overmuch about vanity, but there had been a certain pleasure in moving to Hightown and outfitting herself in an array of clothes showing her toned and supple body to its best advantage. She was in complete accord with Isabela’s approach to femininity, fully aware that men found her desirable and never hesitating to utilise said infatuation to her own advantage.

‘And if the weak-willed idiots can’t see beyond tits and arse, well more fool them,’ she muttered under her breath, satisfied that for this particular audience she was looking at her best. ‘All the easier for me to exploit such fuckwits to my advantage.’

Two Templars standing guard at the massive portcullis waved her in once it was raised, Nathalie ignoring them as she stalked into the corridor, heading automatically to Cullen’s office. With each footfall her testiness increased. If she couldn’t utilise all her powers of persuasion on the one person who might effect change, it could destroy them all. The impending battle she was convinced lay ahead set sparks flying in her stomach as she considered her options.

 Or so Nathalie told herself, not bothering to knock as she slapped open the oak door and strolled nonchalantly into Cullen’s office.

_You sure of that?_

_This nervous anticipation has nothing to do with a certain blonde Templar who’s far too attractive for his own good?_

For better or for worse, she and Cullen had become an intrinsic part of each other’s lives despite the gulf that separated them. Over the years, every time she laid eyes on Cullen an unbidden flash of awareness burned in the pit of her belly. She’d have to be made of stone, after all, to not appreciate how attractive Cullen was on a purely physical level. It was convenient to dismiss her reaction as nothing more than base instinct, wrestled into compliance after a few seconds. Today, however, her anger at her body’s unwanted response to this harsh and unforgiving Templar drove her rage on. Underlying her turbulent emotions was a cold worm of fear she couldn’t dismiss, Nathalie becoming reckless in her desperation to find a resolution.

Such as marching into the Knight-Captain’s office without even offering Cullen the courtesy of a quick knock on the door. She decided didn’t care, Nathalie throwing caution to the wind as she strode in.

‘I do hope I’m not interrupting anything important.’ Nathalie leant back against the closed door, a slow smile curving her lips as she caught Cullen’s unguarded look of fury at her brazen rudeness. ‘Actually, don’t answer that. Of course I’m not. Templars seem to have nothing better to do these days than terrorise innocent citizens and squeeze demons out of thin air, blood magic lurking in every filthy corner.’

‘Hawke.’ Nathalie’s grin grew wider at Cullen’s bitten-out acknowledgement, taking perverse pleasure in how quickly she’d managed to rile the normally inscrutable Knight-Captain of Kirkwall’s Circle. ‘Allow me to give you some free advice. Manners are free and common courtesy will get you far in life.’

Quirking an eyebrow, Nathalie cocked her head to one side, adopting her most vacuous expression.  ‘Why, Knight-Captain, can we add lectures in social graces to the list of useless chores Templars undertake? How do you find time in the day to police such shocking abuses of etiquette, I wonder?’

‘What do you want, Champion? Clearly you’re not here to swap pleasantries.’ Cullen changed tack, only just holding onto his temper by a thread. ‘If you’ve nothing better to do than hurl insults, I shall bid you a good day.’

Deciding to amuse herself by taunting him further, Nathalie raised her arms to push jet-black strands of hair out of her face, smirking as she caught his eyes drop involuntarily to her breasts pushed up against the taut leather. She became bolder with her mocking of all Cullen stood for as her confidence in taunting the enigmatic warrior grew. Why she always chose to provoke Cullen she couldn’t explain, yet the verbal sparring she indulged in with the tall, powerful Templar before her always leaving her with a silent exhilaration firing through her veins.

Oh, he was a beautiful man, one who’d only improved as he’d matured. She’d watched him transform from the hesitant new officer to the mercilessly demanding Knight-Captain standing before her. Nathalie allowed herself a moment to admire the formidable figure glowering in ill-concealed anger. She was impressed he’d held back thus far in the face of her jibes, ever a gentleman regardless of how far she pushed. As she bit her lip, slowly walking to the wall pretending to admire an ugly mural while giving him a prime view of her leather-covered ass, an unwelcome realisation struck her.

For all the justified hatred and terror of the Templars in Kirkwall, for all Cullen’s infamous reputation, he’d never once hurt her. She, Nathalie Hawk, apostate extraordinaire, slayer of darkspawn and invading Arishoks, who’d thoroughly disrupted the power balance in Kirkwall and flaunted her freedom from the Chantry at every opportunity – Cullen should have slammed her in the Circle the moment he’d clapped eyes on her. He’d had numerous opportunities to since, but he hadn’t.

She gave a slight shake of her head, focusing back on the issue at hand. Now wasn’t the place to ponder Cullen’s hidden motivations by letting her live outside of the Circle’s prison bars.

‘I cannot talk freely. Walls have ears.’ Perching on the edge of his desk, Nathalie allowed Cullen a view of her cleavage, his ears turning pink as he flicked his gaze to a spot above her head. ‘I needed to get your attention. You do appreciate, I hope, that I wouldn’t go to such an effort just to point out the many failings of your Templars so brutally enforcing Meredith’s fucked-up doctrine.’

‘Believe me, you’ve always had my attention.’ Nathalie cast a quick glance upwards at the underlying edge in the velvet voice, a sudden confusion leaving her temporarily out of glib one-liners. ‘So what do you want to do about it?’

They were tantalisingly close, Nathalie having to fight away a crazy urge to lean in and press a heated kiss on Cullen’s lips. The only betraying motion of how affected she was by their proximity was her tongue trailing across her top lip, Cullen’s gaze riveted by that one slight movement. Nathalie’s breaths were suddenly constricted, the atmosphere flicking from antagonistic to an unbearable tension she didn’t dare name.

Abruptly she stood, schooling her features to their usual sardonic mask and managing to somehow walk away. Resting her hand on the doorknob, Nathalie turned back to face him. ‘Hanged Man. Nine tonight. Come alone and without that ludicrous metal paraphernalia broadcasting who you are to all and sundry. I hear you’re a byword for discretion, Knight-Captain. Don’t disappoint me.’

She waited for Cullen’s reluctant nod of acquiescence, then made good her escape. Leaving the close confines of Cullen’s office took some effort, Nathalie forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other. Far from celebrating her triumph in getting Cullen exactly where she wanted him, a frustration she couldn’t name felt set to boil over, leaving her fighting the urge to plonk her backside right back onto that ridiculously massive desk of his and demand satisfaction.

_For what, Hawke?_

_Do. Not. Go. There._

Practically running from the Gallows for the dubious safety of Kirkwall’s backstreets, Nathalie dodged her way through the busy throng, winding her way to the Hawke Estate. The only thing which would sort out her foul mood would be an hour or two of hard training. Grabbing a runner once she made it home, she arranged for a message to reach Isabela, asking the rogue to join her for practice.

Every single male of her acquaintance had irritated her beyond measure in the short space of an afternoon. Cullen in particular, for reasons Nathalie went out of her way to avoid addressing. It wasn’t her style, though, to fester over the multitude of slights and insults she’d had to endure over the years, the casual affairs and broken promises to past lovers she’d left littered in her wake testament to just how little faith she placed in trust. No, direct action in her experience always generated the best possible outcome.

 Certain people of her acquaintance were well overdue a lesson in humility, Nathalie finding a convenient target to discharge the latent aggravation churning in her chest after the meeting in the Gallows. Her nerves hummed in anticipation of the challenge that lay before her. Meredith had to be defeated, one way or another, and Cullen was her route to ensuring that happy occurrence manifested itself in the very near future. Tonight, the Champion of Kirkwall would have the confrontation with the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall she craved and force him to see sense.

Raising a dagger and flinging it at the dummy across the ring, Nathalie dismissed the undercurrent of excitement pulsing through her heart at the realisation that, for the first time in seven years, they’d be alone.    

\------

The Hanged Man stank of sweat and piss, vomit and stale ale. Combined with the claustrophobia that swamped him, courtesy of the rancid press of humanity’s dregs congregated in the taproom, Cullen could only be grateful the shadows hid his revulsion.

_Maker save me, why did I agree to this?_

_Nathalie asked, so politely. And I jumped._

Why he always secretly used Hawke’s given name in his head rather than the surname she preferred, Cullen didn’t want to dwell on. The jarring noises from the tavern were distant, Cullen standing, gripped with indecision, in front of the scabby door demarking Hawke’s room. He’d made it undetected from the Gallows, doubting his sanity at every step taking him closer to an assignation he both anticipated and dreaded in the same breath.

Beyond him lay answers to questions Cullen had always invented excuses to dismiss. If there was one person in this rotten city which would force him to listen to the persistent whispers he’d ignored, it was the woman within. Nathalie Hawke had the capacity to infuriate him, for reasons Cullen found convenient to push to the darkest reaches of his brain. He was almost certain he knew why Nathalie had asked him to the Hanged Man this evening. His conscience was torn, the lines between persecution and protection never so blurred as they had become after the Qunari battle.

He owed it to the truce they’d miraculously managed to maintain to hear her out, at the very least.

_That’s the only reason, of course, Cullen._

_Get on with it, then._

His fist slammed harder against the door than he’d intended, Cullen’s fists clenching underneath the black cloak concealing his identity as he tried to still himself to calm. It was of little use. Nathalie had the ability to get under his skin at every given opportunity, openly delighting in goading him and undermining the Order at every turn. She was a born troublemaker, Cullen more than once flayed from the acerbic sarcasm she wielded so effectively.

He’d allowed an apostate to openly flaunt the Chantry’s rule. It was an inconvenient truth he’d avoided ever since they’d stumbled across each other on the Wounded Coast, when his suspicion and mistrust of magic users had been at its peak. Even while she was busy flouting authority, Nathalie had a unique quality, an underlying sincerity completely at odds with her hardened demeanour. In the dark of many an interminable night, when he’d convinced himself to drag her to the Circle come hell or high water, a hidden restraint roared into life and stayed his hand.

The Champion may have metaphorically been giving the middle finger to the Circle for most of her life, but he believed she’d never stoop to the evils of blood magic. Cullen had always trusted her, a lone beacon of light in the living nightmare his life had become after the torture of Kinloch Hold. Their perpetual fighting, her constant challenge to his long-held beliefs had given him pause, preventing Cullen’s fullscale descent into the same paranoia and madness gripping his Knight-Commander.

Nathalie had saved him from himself. Perhaps unwittingly, but she had. Not that he’d ever give her the satisfaction of such knowledge, of course.

The creak of a chair behind the door, accompanied by light footsteps bought Cullen back to the present. That Meredith would be the subject up for discussion, Cullen had no doubt. They’d fought over his commanding officer so often he could recite Hawke’s scathing condemnations verbatim. His response had always been the same, his unwavering dedication to the Order and the Chantry a bedrock of his faith.

_Is it?_

_Truly?_

Cullen faltered as the doorhandle turned. For the first time since they’d met, he wasn’t confident he’d be able to reject Nathalie’s desperate requests to remove Kirkwall’s Knight-Commander. Meredith had become progressively unstable, to the point where Cullen struggled to hold a sensible conversation with her. Blood magic lurked even in her own soldiers, the near-constant searches of the mage quarters exhausting and frightening both mages and Templars alike. For nothing.

‘Get in.’

Nathalie stood aside to let him in, the door closing softly behind her. Cullen took off his cloak, draping it over a hook as he looked about him. The room was sparse with only a table and some rickety-looking chairs up against a wall, and a bed under the dusty window. The small fire was the sole source of light, its weak orange glow doing little to alleviate the evening’s shadows. It also served to heighten a sense of intimacy that sprung suddenly from nowhere, Nathalie leaning back against the door and regarding him with her usual mocking smirk.

Seven years of denying to himself just how damned attractive Nathalie Hawke was frayed his temper more surely than the idiot nobles of Kirkwall he’d recently had the misfortune to interact with. Nathalie needed no embellishments to enhance her beauty. She dressed to elicit a certain response out of men and tonight was no different, Cullen hating himself for noticing every curve of her delectable form clad in a black vest and black leather trousers with matching boots up to her thighs. Her hair reminded him of obsidian, flowing loosely in waves over one shoulder. Violet eyes denoting the school of her magic glittered in low light, huge and dark in the paleness of the soft skin she’d somehow managed to avoid scarring despite the many battles she’d fought. The aura usually clinging to mages was absent in her, highlighting the extent of the control she wielded over her formidable powers.

A heady, toxic combination of beautiful woman and mage, all in one slender, toned, luscious and forbidden package. Forbidden being the operative word. Cullen’s fury at how she’d invited himself into his quarters simmered, the memory of just how close those ruby-red lips were to his earlier in the day stoking his anger to new heights.

‘Your favourite, as I recall.’ Her husky tone caught at Cullen as she poured out two liberal measures of whiskey. ‘Here, have this. Fortification always helps when staring into a bottomless void of doom, I’ve found.’

‘Well, you got me here.’ The whiskey was smooth as it slipped down his throat, Cullen grateful for the momentary distraction. ‘Care to enlighten me as to why we needed to meet in such a cloak-and-dagger fashion?’

‘I didn’t mark you down as a moron, Cullen, but perhaps I was wrong. Surely you can’t be in agreement with Meredith’s latest round of executions, nor ignorant of the impact her lunacy is wreaking in the Circle?’ Her smirk dropped, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised in disbelief. ‘Do I need to explain to you how damaging such schisms – which you helped forge! – will be to southern Thedas as a whole, should Kirkwall’s Circle rise up in rebellion?’

‘I don’t need a blasted lecture in the various factions of the Circle, of all the Maker-forsaken – look, just get to the point, would you? I’ve risked much to get here and my time is limited.’ Cullen wrestled his temper into reasonable bounds, her accusation stinging him into a retort of his own. ‘You’ve always blessed me with the benefit of your wisdom in the past so I fail to understand what’s changed.’

Nathalie’s low laugh was devoid of humour. ‘Very well. And….I’ve unearthed a plot to lead a rebellion. Apparently, it’s a direct reaction to Meredith’s excessive behaviour. If we don’t find a way to make her stop, then it could tear Kirkwall apart.’

Far from concerning him, Cullen’s ire grew. He’d come all this way only to be spun a tale he’d heard a thousand times. ‘So what’s new? If I had a gold for every mage that whispered rebellion and demanded Meredith’s downfall I’d be a rich man. Now, if that’s it for the gossip, I’ll be off.’

‘Leaving so soon? I’d hate to be deprived of your company.’ Natalie planted herself squarely in front of him. It wasn’t the right moment for Cullen to notice how snugly she’d fit underneath his chin, contenting himself instead with a glower. ‘Let me put it in short sentences for the simple minded to understand. For every day Meredith orders mages to die in the name of the greater good, the flames of resistance are fired not just in Kirkwall but across southern Thedas. Kirkwall could be the spark which sets the whole house of cards tumbling down. Are you actively trying to be the one responsible for the inevitable fallout?’

‘What do you expect from me? To just declare the Circle null and void and allow the mages to traipse off into the sunset?’ Cullen gave a careless shrug designed to annoy her, sipping the whiskey and watching the violet eyes shimmer to amethyst as Nathalie’s own rage intensified. ‘I’m flattered you think my position enables me to overturn Chantry law but I’m afraid on this occasion I’ll have to disappoint you.’

Twin spots of colour flared in Nathalie’s cheeks, her usual cynical mask lost to pure anger, Cullen’s gaze involuntarily dropping downward to catch sight of the tantalising vision of her pert breasts rising and falling courtesy of her rapid breathing. He jerked his eyes away too slowly, raising his glass to buy himself some distance. The whiskey burned his throat, Nathalie joining him in draining her glass and promptly refilling both.

She’d had to lean over him to grab the bottle, Cullen’s own breath hitching at the light press of her thigh on his, the brush of her breast against his arm searing through the linen of his white shirt. He cleared his throat and stepped back, bumping awkwardly onto the table before adjusting himself. Wordlessly he accepted the glass and downed it, leaving the tumbler to one side and grabbed hold of the table’s edge in a pathetic attempt to ward himself against the potent temptation she represented.

‘Maker’s breath, this was never going to be straightforward, was it?’ Nathalie placed her now-empty drink on the table after a pause, visibly trying to control herself, her usual sangfroid completely absent. She hadn’t moved away from him, the heat and frustration radiating from her body fuelling his own. ‘You need to rally the Templars, get Meredith to step down, get the Order to rescind her status. Or something. I have no idea what, but you are the only one who can do it. And soon.’

Deep within him, he knew she was right, Cullen miserably aware just how horrific the situation in Kirkwall’s Circle had become. It wasn’t her he wanted to chastise, but himself. Their habit of insulting each other was, however, hard to break. It was easier to lash out at Nathalie than acknowledge his own role in creating such a disaster.

‘I don’t answer to you, _Champion_ , and nor will I be manipulated by you,’ he snarled, his own guilt at the wretchedness Kirkwall’s mages faced hitting hard. ‘Mages have plenty of methods of coercion at their disposal and you’ve got quite the formidable arsenal. You’ll find your charms wasted on me.’

‘Why, Knight-Captain. That almost sounds like a challenge.’ Nathalie’s sarcastic drawl incensed him further, blood now roaring through his veins. ‘Do you want to put me to the test?’

Too much had passed between them that day for Cullen to let her insolence slide. With a growl he caught her lips with his own in a furious kiss, anything just to stop her taunting him with his multitude of failures. For a wild moment he wondered whether he’d read every sign she’d given wrong, only for primal triumph to surge through him as she kissed him back with an intensity which left him reeling. Shock, rage and pure need was laden in Nathalie’s gasp, pushing her hips into his already straining erection. One arm curled around her waist and the other cupped an ass that had played starring roles in his fevered dreams, pulling her hard against him as he deepened the embrace.

One moment they’d been fighting and the next they were locked in a raw, purely sexual embrace.  He was too desperate for her to ponder the surreal nature of the situation, instinct taking over. Long years of lust they’d both denied had boiled over into this one punishing kiss, neither one refusing to give ground to the other.

She tasted of whiskey and sin, Cullen’s nostrils filled with her sweetly spicy vanilla scent. His hand curled into her hair as their tongues met, Nathalie nipping at his bottom lip before returning to explore his mouth with an unspoken demand. Her fingers were tangled into his curls while another hand disappeared up the back of his shirt, long nails raking his back.

‘The infamous Knight-Captain of Kirkwall, in such a compromising position.’ Nathalie’s provocative whisper was hoarse, Cullen shuddering in pleasure as her teeth grazed his earlobe and her palm fondled his cock. ‘Anyone would think you’ve secretly been desperate to bed me for all this time.’

‘Before this is over, you’ll be the desperate one. That I can promise you.’ Cullen’s fingers had by now opened the front of her trousers and worked their way past the slip of already soaking underwear. ‘How often have you made yourself come thinking of fucking me?’

‘About as many times as you’ve had your cock in your hand thinking of – aaah…’

Nathalie’s tremble and the surge of wetness greeting his words confirmed his hunch, his fingers slowly starting to stroke her engorged clit. Her eyes fluttered shut, a slow moan escaping her as Cullen slid a finger between her slick folds, switching his thumb to continue its circle of sweet torment. His free hand reached out to caress her breasts, Nathalie’s back arching when he tweaked each nipple.

Her breathing was uneven, watching him remove his hand and lick his fingers clean, savouring every last drop. ‘You taste so damned good. It would be rude of me not to share.’  Cullen’s swift, hard kiss that followed left her dazed. The salty tang of her juices coated the inside of his mouth, Nathalie audibly groaning as she tasted herself on his tongue.

‘I’m willing to bet you prefer bedding mages.’ It was then Cullen’s turn to breathe erratically as she freed his cock from his breeches and stroked his shaft with a victorious grin. There was no hiding his body’s reaction from her accurate guess, Nathalie intent on turning the tables against him. ‘You’re a fucking hypocrite, Cullen.’

‘Yet, here you are,’ Cullen replied, his heated gaze roving over her flushed skin. ‘Who’s the hypocrite? If you hate me so much then why not leave?’

‘I’ve always wondered what it would be like to bed a Templar. You’ll do as well as any other.’

That she’d just spouted a blatant untruth was evidenced by the storm of passion ensnaring them both. Nathalie would no sooner whore herself out to a Templar then she would run the streets of Kirkwall stark naked. An idea which, as it flashed through his mind, wasn’t entirely without merit – so long as there was an audience of one.

‘Think you can fool me with your bullshit? You, Nathalie, are a fucking liar and I’m going to show you why.’

Cullen rose, pushing Nathalie against the back wall with her cheek pressed up to the cold stone. She was taken aback by his sudden movement but judging from the frantic wiggling of her ass up against his painfully hard cock she wasn’t displeased with their new position. With one rapid movement he lowered her trousers to her knees preventing her from moving, pressing a hand into the palm of her back with the other grazing the bare skin of her buttocks. Spreading the rounded cheeks, one fingertip leisurely trailed over her asshole right down to her clit.

She was so wet the tops of her thighs were smeared with moisture, Cullen almost losing control at the blatantly sexual sight she presented. Her ass was high in the air, the pink lips and her clit an invitation for him to make her his. Nathalie was sensual perfection, the long lonely nights when he’d allowed his imagination to let go in no way preparing him for the spectacular vision of the real thing. Her hands clawed at the wall as Cullen thrust two fingers into the soft heat. The sound of her moans merged with the unbelievably arousing sound of her juices wetting his palm with each inward motion.

‘There’s only one Templar you want fucking you, isn’t there?’ Cullen covered her back with his stomach and chest as he leant over her, leaving a trail of bites on her nape. ‘Say ‘please Knight-Captain’ and I’d be happy to oblige.’

‘Cullen…..I need….oh Maker…..’ Nathalie whimpered, her entire body writhing for a release Cullen fully intended to deny her. For the time being, at least.

‘I can’t quite hear you.’ Cullen’s voice was ragged, keeping his fingers moving at the same steady pace to push her further to the brink. ‘Was the infamous apostate Hawke really begging a Knight-Captain of the Templar Order to fuck her?’

‘Fuck you,’ Nathalie hissed, grinding her pelvis harder into his palm. ‘I – holy shit…’.

‘Say it,’ Cullen demanded, his cock leaking precome from his own urgent need to feel Nathalie’s heat sheathed around him. He couldn’t last much longer, but he intended to hold out for as long as he could, all too aware that she was enjoying the erotically charged conversation as much as he was. ‘Maybe you want me to stop….’

‘You utter bastard! Please, Cullen…I….fuck me, I can’t….’

There was an underlying vulnerability in her strangled tone that made Cullen snap. He grabbed her hips and thrusting into her in one smooth motion, both of them crying out in mindless pleasure. The sensation of heat and friction along the length of his cock nearly unmanned him, Cullen thrusting hard and fast in response to her plea. This was no slow, tender lovemaking session, the pent-up fury from recent months spilling into their mutual illicit desire – desire left dormant for too long.

Both were panting loudly, the ultimate release only moments away. Nathalie’s lustrous hair was wrapped round his fist, Cullen pulling her head back and exposing the graceful lines of her neck. His other hand was underneath her brassiere and teasing her nipple, the fullness of her breast filling his palm in a most satisfying manner. She’d braced herself on the wall, her moans louder with each relentless thrust of his cock hitting high inside her core.

‘Touch your clit,’ Cullen commanded, groaning as he felt Nathalie’s muscles clench around his cock in response to his order. The feel of her was indescribable, tight, hot and soaking wet. ‘You’re going to come for me, Nathalie, hard, with my cock buried deep inside you.’

Nathalie’s wail matched her increasingly erratic movements, the jerky motions of her fingertips rubbing her clit signalling how close she was to the brink. Cullen’s jaw was set, glancing at the carnal sight of pink lips wrapped around his juice-streaked cock as he continued to fuck her. To have the Champion of Kirkwall begging for him was his single most erotic fantasy come to life. The slap of flesh meeting flesh and the rasps of breath intensified, Cullen and Nathalie now rocking in a perfect rhythm. She was frantic, her movements a blur as she sought her release. He moved his hand from her breast to cover her fingers, pressing firmly over her clit to apply the delicious pressure she sought.

‘Cullen! Oh…Cullen! Fuck!’

Nathalie’s scream accompanied the violent tremors shaking her from head to toe. Her orgasm ripped through her, Cullen holding her steady as she rode out her climax. Her own pleasure merely intensified his own, every fibre of his body tensing as he approached his own peak. Every nerve ending was afire, every single motion heightening his arousal to a high so extreme he wasn’t sure he could bear it. With a hoarse shout and a final thrust he spilled his seed inside her, Cullen tumbling over the edge into a blissful release. His legs wobbled and his cock jerked uncontrollably, his chest heaving from his exertions.

Neither of them moved in the immediate aftermath, the torrent of emotion still swirling like a vortex around their trembling bodies. Cullen gently eased Nathalie to standing as he pulled out. Unthinkingly he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, Nathalie soft and pliant as he held her quietly in his arms, stilling themselves to rest. The anger had vanished, nearly a decade’s worth of thwarted yearning rushing to the fore as he struggled to comprehend what he’d just done.

Fucked Hawke, Kirkwall’s saviour, with about as much finesse as a rutting bull while both of them were fully clothed. Albeit that they were now somewhat exposed. Cullen hadn’t even had a chance to get his boots off, so urgent was his need to sink his cock deep inside her. 

He pulled off his shirt and silently offered it to her, Nathalie actually blushing in silent thanks as she turned to clean herself up, tossing the now-ruined garment to one side once she was done. Within seconds they were decent, well as far as he could be with the upper half of his body on display. Inwardly he cursed his fair skin, flushing at the genuine appreciation in Nathalie’s hesitant smile as her eyes hungrily roved over his nakedness.

Embarrassment at what had just transpired swamped him. With a tentative glance he looked up at her again, about to mutter an excuse, drag his cloak on and run when he caught sight of her expression. Her guard was down and she was watching him with a look of incredulous disbelief, resignation and smouldering need.

The world might never know what transpired between them, this being too intensely personal an experience which neither of them would share. But it hit him then, the enormity of their actions. Cullen was rocked to his very foundations. Long-held beliefs he’d so pompously spouted adherence to were blown away, revealed for the fabrications they were. Yet again Nathalie had compelled him to see the truth.

He needed space to sort through the rioting thoughts. Yet it went against his nature to walk out on a woman immediately after sex, no matter how much said woman drove him insane.

_Normally._

_Not now though, hey Cullen? So what are you going to do about it?_

‘Maker, I..I –,’ Cullen stammered, running a hand through his rumpled hair and hanging his head in shame, lost for words. ‘Nathalie….’

‘No one has ever called me Nathalie, aside from my family.’ He looked up at the unexpected wistful note in her voice. In the aftermath of such a powerful sexual encounter her soul was exposed, her eyes mirroring the vulnerability he’d heard earlier. ‘You’re the first. I quite like it.’

Gradually, his burning mortification receded and he relaxed. ‘I have to admit, for all these years I’ve always thought of you as Nathalie,’ Cullen admitted, smiling at she blushed. ‘The name suits you. Hawke is the armour you wear to confront the world. She’s a part of you but not a true reflection who you are.’

He’d never considered the self-assured Hawke had the capacity to be flustered, but he was witnessing it now. ‘I hate it when you’re right,’ she grumbled, Cullen chuckling at her feigned pout. ‘You do an excellent job of hiding that perception of yours. Do they beat it out of you in Templar school?’

Cullen couldn’t help himself, reaching out to push a stray lock of hair from her cheek and tuck it behind her ear. He’d never seen a woman more beautiful, especially not a relaxed and unguarded Nathalie, leaning into the palm stroking her face.

‘I’m the exception to the rule.’

The sentence had been a throwaway joke but Nathalie’s eyes widened. She reached out to hold the hand still stroking her face, his careless words clearly carrying more import than he’d intended. ‘Yes. You are, and never forget it, especially not in the days to come. Promise me, Cullen. You are worth so much more than the Order allows you to be.’

‘I’m not sure what you mean –‘. He broke off, Nathalie silencing him with a delicate press of her lips to his.

‘You will, one day. I’m not the right woman for you, but she’ll be along. Then you’ll understand.’ She raised her gaze back to his, determination mixed with hope and uncertainty shining from her eyes. ‘But Maker save me, I want you so very much. Just for one night, Cullen and Nathalie, leaving our baggage at the door. Will you stay, and show me the man I know exists behind the mask of a Templar?’

Mere words could never provide an adequate answer to Nathalie’s heartfelt request. Cullen could only demonstrate to her his appreciation of the exceptional gift she offered. This time the kiss they shared was slow, languid and sensual. Clothes and boots were shed, forgotten on the floor, laughter smothered by lingering touches filled with promise for what lay ahead as they fell onto the bed.

Two lonely and fractured souls connected, desperate to seek solace against the darkness threatening to destroy everything they’d fought so hard to protect. For this night they were lovers, intent on an exploration they’d believed impossible. Tomorrow he’d deal with the impossible conundrum Nathalie presented him with, the contradictions of his life thrown into sharp focus as a result of their impetuosity. But for tonight, at least, the future and all its challenges were distant. There was only her, and Cullen didn’t intend to waste one precious second.


End file.
